A Poem About Love, Or Not
by Shamelessly Radiant
Summary: Alex suffers from PTSD after the islands. Justin isn't there for her, and then he is and he's all she needs. (No incest, but definitely not a healthy brother/sister relationship.)


**_i_**

The heat was humid against her sweat slicked skin, her eyes strained when they looked at him, dark against the blazing fire. She wished a world away, and since then nothing had felt real anymore. No matter how much she pretends, like whatever, she can lie to herself all she wants, duh, Alex knows the exact moment everything changed. There, on the edge of a world that would soon stop spinning, she whispered three words that would change everything.

 ** _ii_**

"I wish for everything to be exactly the way it was."

And later: "It should have been you."

 ** _iii_**

And she takes and she takes and she takes and she is so stupid, so stupid so she bites her tongue, refuses those three words to tumble out of her mouth- (She thinks she should never be allowed to speak again.)

 ** _iv_**

They woke up, his hand under her shirt, spanning her belly, thumb edging the underside of her breasts and pinkie edging the waistband of her jeans, and when she pressed back something hard, a heavy exhale, surprisingly intimate and for one moment they just were- She remembered then, oh, we are not supposed to exist.

Living on borrowed time, or whatever.

 ** _v_**

(But she wonders, cause she has always been good at, okay who is she kidding, she's always been great at everything, duh, but she wonders and holds onto the thought cause it could save her, save them, in those moments, if they were no longer related at all, just two people who happened to be-

Something, maybe. Existing, or not.)

 ** _vi_**

She will not think those words, she will not, she will not, _oh shut it Alex, you shut it, what you are me, yes exactly so I know you better, no I know myself better._

She almost wishes for silence, but then she remembers.

Wishes are a dangerous thing to wish for.

Ugh, that sounded, like, poetic.

 ** _vii_**

"Alex!"

A sensation of falling, no of being suspended in the air, of choking, a profound sense of loss. The sound of flesh hitting flesh, and a rhythmic wet sound, something smoking, burning-

"ALEX," a jerking, shaking, a face hovering above hers, Justin.

(Justin).

Oh, those little sounds are coming from her then as, he brushes a careful finger over her cheeks, the air feels cooler on the tear tracks left behind.

"Justin," because who is she kidding, not even herself, she is not fine, she is so far away from fine she is in, like, a volcano, and yes that doesn't make sense except for in her head because isn't a volcano a fiery pit of humid warmth too?

"Shh, shh," shushing her to sleep.

"Stay?" And there she goes; she has said it again, condemning them both to their damnation. Ah whatever, she was always going to go to hell anyways.

 ** _viii_**

(After her tears have stopped, they curl up on opposite sides of her bed, a careful three inches left between their crescent moon spines- They wake up and that space is gone.)

 ** _ix_**

I need you, you are everything I ever wanted... to be.

To be or not to be, that's the- ah screw it, what did she ever care about English lit anyways.

 ** _x_**

They wake up just like they did after that botched up camping trip, and Max can claim that he doesn't remember being sucked into oblivion, being gone from her forever but that's the thing isn't it, because she does remember, and so does Justin, because he tells her it felt like what he imagines dying feel likes.

 ** _xi_**

Well, he told her that, because since his muscle memory proved that it remembered too, those scant stolen moments that gifted them with just Alex, just Justin, no last names, nothing to separate them at all- He hasn't been speaking or even looking at her.

 ** _xii_**

Harper calls. She doesn't pick up.

Her mom leaves enchiladas in front of her door and her dad curses when he trips over them.

Max knocks and tells her some disgusting joke.

Justin never comes.

She stares at the three stars she painted on her bedroom roof when she was like seven and realises she is fed up of stars.

 ** _xiii_**

She won. And then she lost and she lost and she lost and it felt as if someone cut through the fragile skin between her ribs with a blunt, jagged knife and hollowed out the space behind her breast bone and took all her bone marrow too because ever since her palms touched cold stone that should have been warm she has felt as if she is too light, as if any minute now the wind will come and take her away to be a daughter of air or something like a joke started long ago still waiting for its punch line.

Okay so maybe she has been watching too many Disney movies, and she'd rather be a fairy anyway so.

 ** _xiv_**

In hindsight cutting tomatoes with a sharp, sharp knife after not sleeping for weeks on end probably wasn't one of her brightest ideas.

Though, doing that while looking at your brother, frustrated because he hasn't been meeting your eyes for weeks on end may have been worse.

But like, hey, she has wished worlds away, what's this compared to that?

 ** _xv_**

Never try to catch a falling knife.

It'll end up shattering your heart.

(Ugh she has got to stop doing that.)

 ** _xvi_**

Her mouth is an 'o' as she stares and does nothing but stare at the bright red flow gushing out of her hand, and all her nerve endings are focussed on that one spot, taking the pain away from anything and everything less.

In the background a voice, telling her what to do, like yeah uhm Justin why the hell should I listen to you, and then a hand gripping her own, forcing it open, a clatter, a spell.

"Look at me." A gentle voice, a gentle hand; forget the knife this is what breaks your heart.

She shakes her head no, and he grips her chin tight and presses his forehead to hers, nose touching, lips a breath away from hers. They stare, breathing raggedly, and he presses his fingers into her wound.

If it's supposed to be symbolic, like, giving back all the hurt she has caused him, or if it's simply a Justin way to say _look, you're being ridiculous, you're hurting,_ or if it is something unconsciously done she has no clue.

(He tries to heal her with magic, but she screams the moment she sees his wand, and backs away until she trips and hits her back badly, and he shushes her, wide eyes full of shock and wonder, throws his wand onto the table and wraps clean white gauze around her hand.)

 ** _xvii_**

By the time her parents race up the stairs he is back on the couch and she is so not cleaning that up. She's also not meeting his eyes at all, and he has a steady stare on her, she thinks in case she freaks out again.

"Justin healed me."

And he is still looking at her and she's still not quite meeting his eyes, looking to the ugly orange of the couch instead of the blue of his eyes or the brown of his wand.

"Well done, son." Jerry clasps a hand on his shoulder, and Theresa starts towards Alex.

She leaves without looking back, leaving half cut tomatoes and a bloody knife. Whatever, it's not like she is supposed to be brave.

 ** _xviii_**

(I'll never leave you.

Liar)

 ** _xix_**

She wished a world away, once.

Felt it took to much space away from her, put too much on her shoulders to carry - she was never meant for sports, like, come on.

Now, she wishes herself away. She is sure the world can probably manage to carry her weight; she is just not sure she can, anymore.

 ** _xx_**

"Alex, what are you wearing?"

"Oh, so he talks."

He follows her into the lair, grabs a thin, thin wrist in his big, big hands. (And you know what they say about men with- okay, she is _so_ not going there.)

"Harper made these for me, Justin, and about the only thing I can do right lately is being a good friend."

(She has refused to even say one single spell since summer; it shouldn't have been me sounding through her head every time she touched her beloved wand.)

"Alex," his voice is too soft as he slowly pushes the long sleeves up, and stares.

Maybe he can see the beauty of it, the single thin red line against pale skin with blue veins, the inside of her wrists have always been paler than the rest of her.

He gasps whatever the reason and drags her along to his room, where he sits her on the bed and goes about silencing and warding his room.

"I only did it once, Justin, and I didn't like how it made me feel. It's fine." She had stared at the blood and felt nothing, empty, wondering how she had sunk so low, and vowed to herself: never again. She was really just trying to be a better friend.

(But, like, she has her limits; she would never be caught dead in that awful bright pink dress.)

He takes her arm and presses his lips to the scar, and oh, well, that's new. She has butterflies in her stomach, and his eyes are focussed on hers and she thinks she could get used to this.

Reaching up, she trails two careful fingers over his jaw line, and he presses his hand against hers, keeping it there.

"That moment after the competition... when you asked me to stay with you... I didn't know who you were, but I knew I wanted to stay with you, because I knew I loved you."

"But you did leave me, Justin. Twice." And her voice did not break, not at all-except it is still broken.

"I forgot- no, I remembered. Alex, I tried, but I cannot fight it anymore."

"But... do you want to fight it?"

"No," he whispers, "we are better when we are together. I was... kind of... glad it was Max first and not you."

"Me... too."

"Alex, I-"

"Justin," and she speaks the three words she swore wouldn't speak again, "stay with me?" And she hopes he hears the words she doesn't say, _I love you, I can't live without you, please, please, please._

He hears her, or she thinks he does, because he says the one word she needs to hear: "always."

(And yes, it sounds like music to her ears, and yes, she's being poetic again, sue her, whatever.)

 **A/N** : yes, going straight to hell, probably, but what a lovely ride. Review?


End file.
